


a tale of two cities

by antoniohiggins



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Aro/Ace Jojo, But also Fluff!, Canon Era, Dancing in the Rain, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, jOJO IS V IMPORTANT I LOVE HIM, javid - Freeform, much angst, spot conlon? more like soft conlon, sprace, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:35:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antoniohiggins/pseuds/antoniohiggins
Summary: a self-indulgent af soulmate auin which everyone has tattoos of everything their soulmate loves that fade to simple outlines when your soulmate diesone day when race was eight, all of his tattoos simply disappeared completelyall because of the strike, everything slowly falls into place





	a tale of two cities

Spot Conlon was fine with his tattoos. For most of his life they meant nothing to him. Every few months or so he would get a new one, or maybe one would disappear, but it hardly meant anything to him.

You see, these tattoos weren’t something he could ever choose. Tattoos came from your soulmate, covering your body in the things they loved, all tiny clues as to who they may be. They faded as your soulmate’s interests changed, and they multiplied the more things they loved.

Spot didn’t love anything. Not truly anyway.

He’d had a tough life growing up, anyone with eyes could see that, and it was really hard to love something when everything you ever loved was taken all at once. Spot told himself he didn’t love anything, that he wasn’t allowed to love anything because if he did, that meant he’d lose it. He loved his family, but they were taken from him. He loved school, but once he didn’t have a family anymore, school was out of the question. He loved playing sports and baking with his mom and playing tag with his little sister, but those things were all gone now and he swore off every getting too attached to anything ever again.

Racetrack Higgins lost his soulmate when he was eight years old. One moment he had beautiful pictures covering almost every inch of his arms and the next he woke up in the middle of the night screaming in pain and gripping his arms as he closed his eyes tight, not wanting to watch as every single one of the beautiful pictures he loved so much, slowly disappeared. All the boys in the house rushed around him, but there was nothing anyone could do. It was common knowledge that when your soulmate died, all your tattoos would lose color, leaving nothing but dark outlines behind, but this was entirely different and as the pictures faded from Race’s skin, so did his hope of ever finding the one person on the planet that was supposed to love him.

Spot wasn’t too outspoken about anything to do with soulmates. When little kids at the house would come up to him and ask, he’d explain it and maybe even let some of them see his tattoos, but he was in no rush to actually find him. Or at least, he hoped it was a him.

Sometimes when it rained he would sit on his windowsill and just trace them. Whoever his soulmate was sure seemed to have a pretty full life. He truly felt like in those times he was with him. That seeing the things he loved somehow connected him to his soulmate, but something told him it would all be for nothing.

There was a pair of ballet shoes along his left ankle, a soft pink color that seemed to turn more worn as time went on, almost as if they were being used constantly. There was a cigar along the bend of his right wrist, sometimes with a spiral of smoke leading from it, and sometimes without it. There was an ever-changing stack of books on his left bicep. Three books, almost always a different combination, and usually in multiple languages with bright colored covers. A record player in the crook of his left elbow, sometimes with music notes emerging from it. Along his right forearm was a pair of silverware, a fork and a spoon with nicks and bends, clearly very old and worn.

But his favorite was probably the one wrapping around his right bicep, just above his elbow, and always appearing to glow. It was the skyline of Manhattan, neon lights seemed to glow through the streets and around the buildings and it was the only piece that gave Spot a bit of hope. Manhattan. At least he was probably from New York. It made the Italian flag on his right ankle a little less worrying.

But Race didn’t have that luxury. He could still remember the face of the little girl that used to take up a spot on his shoulder, and the oven glove that used to cover his forearm. He could picture the sports equipment on his bicep and the rolled up newspaper on his wrist, but he missed one in particular.

The skyline of Brooklyn, glowing with life and light around his upper arm. It was always his favorite, giving him comfort to know that his soulmate was likely just across the Brooklyn Bridge, but he lost that years ago.

It hardly crossed his mind anymore.

Sp one day, when Race and the rest of the Manhattan newsies had filed into the circulation gates like they did every morning, the change in the routine that they’d all done for years finally changed.

A new price. A new price for the newsies to finally steal the meager pennies they needed to survive. An extra ten cents per hundred papes was enough to starve a while house of boys by the end of the month.

All it took was Jack Kelly with half a mind to protect his family and some new kid that seemed to have the same little glimmer in his eye. An hour after the headline went up, Manhattan was on strike. Everything had happened so fast that Race hardly even knew what they were doing until Jack started assigning boroughs for the boys to visit.

“Now who wants Brooklyn?” Jack’s words broke Race from his daydream-like trance and he looked around at the silent room before hesitantly standing up.

“I’ll take Brooklyn,” he announced, propping his foot up on his chair and leaning his elbow on it.

“You’s sure Racer? That’s Spot Conlon’s turf ya’ know,” Jack retorted, clearly surprised that anyone had even volunteered. Race just nodded and shrugged. His hand unconsciously raised to rest on his arm right where he used to have that beautiful tattoo of Brooklyn. Maybe his soulmate was gone for good, but maybe he could still find out who they were. “Alrighty then, Dave n’ I’s got Midtown. Be ‘ere t’morrow mornin’ n’ we’s gonna see jus’ how powerful tha’ kids a’ tha’ city can be!”

The whole room of boys erupted in cheers, but all Race could think about was Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn. He slipped out through the back as some of the boys began to leave and glanced at the Brooklyn Bridge once before he took off running. 

Race could never explain why Brooklyn didn’t scare him. Any other kid in Manhattan would go running at the mere mention of the city, let alone Spot Conlon himself, but Race just…didn’t mind it. He stepped up to the door of the Brooklyn lodging house, knocked, and was on his way to meet the main man himself with surprisingly minimal convincing.

“Yo’, Spot!” the boy leading Race called as he knocked on the door of the leader’s private room. “You’s got a’ visitor.”

Spot swung the creaky door open and Race instantly realized why people seemed so afraid of him. He was small, just like Race knew he would be, but only a few inches shorter than Race. His short dark hair was mostly tucked under a grey hat just like Race’s own and still allowed a small bit of light to shine on his dark brown eyes. A thin blanket was draped lazily over his shoulders and despite all of the obvious signs showing he was probably sick, Race couldn’t help but admire his unique features.

It wouldn’t have taken much for anyone else to realize why the tingling feeling in the pit of Race’s stomach wasn’t fear. Just because he had every reason to believe he would never truly be loved by someone, he just didn’t even consider the idea of it. But he couldn’t deny that Spot really was more charming than he was terrifying. Race awkwardly tried to cover up his bare arms as much as possible when he stepped into the room, noticing how Spot discarded his blanket as displayed two nearly full sleeves of soulmate tattoos.

“You’s one a’ Kelly’s boys, ain’t ya’?” Spot started, not really paying Race too much attention as he went back to sitting by the windowsill.

“I, uh, yeah I is,” Race stammered, walking slightly over to the other side of the room as well.

“Well then,” Spot continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “What brings ya’ here then, pretty boy?”

Race felt his throat close up and his heart do a backflip as his cheeks burned bright red.

“W-what?” He managed to mumble out a mere whimper.

Spot chuckled, only twisting up the corner of his lips the slightest bit.

“Forget I’s even said it,” Spot reassured. “What’d Kelly get ‘imself inta’ this time?”

Race could feel himself getting slightly more comfortable as he pulled up what looked like an old shipping crate by the window and sat down cautiously.

“He’s still an idiot, as I’s sure ya’ know by now,” Race joked back, wishing some of his own Manhattan boys were there to hear them going after Jack together. “But I guess you’s could say I volunteered.”

Spot scoffed and actually turned to look at Race.

“Sure ya’ did. I know for a fact all a’ Kelly’s boys is scared outta’ they’s wits,” he teased as if it was obvious.

“I ain’t,” Race countered, simply smirking at the boy that looked at him his a suspicious raised eyebrow.

“Right, like you’s ain’t got a reason to be.”  
  
“You’s exactly right. I ain’t got a reason to be scared a’ you’s, so I ain’t,” Race continued, keeping up his sharp wit as long as they both could go.

Spot was silent for a long time. It took a while for people to get to the point where they weren’t afraid of Spot for a while. He tended to have that affect on people.

It wasn’t that he was _trying_ to be scary to everyone, just the people who deserved it. Most of the time it kept himself and all his kids alive simply because everyone in any borough in New York City knew not to mess with anyone from Brooklyn of they’d have to answer to Spot Conlon. It wasn’t every day that someone actually wanted to strike up a conversation.

“So you’s never actually answered my question,” Spot spoke up again after a casual silence.

Race just sighed and took off his cap, running his free hand through his blonde curls.

“I’s gonna assume you’s got the same price hike-up o’er here as we’s got,” Race started, noting Spot’s nod before continuing. “Jack wants ta’ strike.”  
  
Spot just stared at Race for a second, blue eyes meeting brown ones, before he chuckled softly and leaned his head into his hands.

“Jesus,” he groaned. “I’s been sayin’ it for years, that kid’s imagination’s too big for his head. If he actually goes through wit’ this, you’s all gonna be dead by mornin’.”

Race just smirked and nodded.

“Yeah, tha’s what I told ‘im. He’s an idiot, but he ain’t backin’ down, not this time. He’s got some new kid partnerin’ with ‘im n’ they’s got some plan ta’ take down _The World_ t’morrow. Tha’s why I’s here, he, uh, wants Brooklyn backin’ us up,” Race proposed, unsure of how Spot would react.

He looked back at Spot and the second he met the boy’s gaze they both burst out laughing.

“He’s for real?” Spot wheezed as Race grinned back, this time sitting down on the windowsill beside the other.

“I’s can barely believe it myself, but we’s gonna get killed t’morrow if we’s end up alone,” Race teased, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach as he glanced around at the tissues covering the floor and the thin blankets around various places in the room.

Spot nodded, looking away and staring down at his hands. Race was right, there was no way these kids would be able to pull this off, but they were going to try and, well, Spot knew there was nothing he could do to stop them.

“This ain’t somethin’ I toss ‘round lightly, but I like you’s, pretty boy. Ya’ ain’t like tha’ rest a’ Kelly’s boys,” Race couldn’t stop the heat rushing to his cheeks, but he’d deny it until his dying day. “But as I’s sure you’s noticed, I ain’t doin’ so good as of now. I can’t be sendin’ my boys ova’ there, n’ especially not wit’out me.”

Race understood. It made perfect sense, and he’d probably do the same thing if he were in that position. He took a look outside at the nearly setting sun and sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, I get it,” he answered. “You’s a good leader, ya’ know that?” He had sensed a bit of genuine emotion in Spot’s voice, something he definitely had not been expecting. It was nice.

“Ya’ ain’t too bad ya’self, pretty boy,” Spot teased, a tiny smile breaking through his smirk.

“I’s got no clue why all a’ the others is scared a’ you’s,” Race said, taking a seat on Spot’s bunk, facing the boy as he let his legs swing back and forth.

“ ‘Cause I’s scary,” Spot growled before sneezing very un-menacingly into a tissue.

Race chuckled, hopping back up off the bed and turning to the door.

“No ya’ ain’t,” Race argued. “But keep tellin’ ya’self that if it helps ya’ sleep at night.”

Spot scoffed and finally stood up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and unsteadily making his way over to Race.

“Hurry up n’ get ya’self better, we’s gonna need you’s soon if Jack’s as stubborn ‘bout this as he is wit’ everythin’ else,” Race mused, leading against the door to Spot’s room. “I should pro’lly get goin’, but maybe i’ll see ya’ ‘round sometime.”

“Wait!” Spot interrupted, catching Race by surprise right as he reached for the doorknob. “I still ain’t got ya’ name.”

Race felt the smile quickly return to his face as he spit and jutted his hand out as Spot did the same.

“Racetrack Higgins.”  
  
“Well then,” Spot spoke, actually letting his lips part slightly as he gave up trying to hold back his smile. “Good luck t’morrow. You’s gonna need it. N’ make sure ta’ stop by afta’wards so’s I know you’s okay.”

Race chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his dimples parting his blushing cheeks.

“Yeah, we is. N’ sure thing, Spotty.” Normally Spot would’ve strangled anyone that gave him a nickname like that, but something about Race being the one using it made it significantly less embarrassing.

Race turned back to the door, opening it and stepping out into the hallway. He waved at Spot, who gave some sort of salute back, and turned down the hallway.

“Race!” He spun himself around and saw Spot’s head poking out from the doorway, a slight redness in his cheeks that Race just let himself account as part of his sickness. “Be careful, please. Tha’ last thin’ I want is for my new fav’rite ‘Hattan kid gettin’ soaked.”  
  
Spot would’ve denied to his grave that he ever said anything like that, but a part of him knew it was the right thing to say as Race’s whole face lit up. His cheeks were just the slightest bit pink and his dimples were as deep as craters and everything about him just made Spot feel comfortable.

“No promises,” Race smirked, tipping his hat as he left, winking at Spot and dipping away to sprint back across the bridge.

As he slowed his legs when he neared the lodging house, the door was already slightly open and he slipped in, rolling his eyes.

“You’s gotta know by now we ain’t got enough blankets ta’ be keepin’ the door open for no reason!” He called as he slipped his boots off by the door. When no one responded, he looked up and there was just about every boy in the house sitting around the common room.

“See? Obviously he’s alive,” Romeo stated, nudging Albert who stuck his tongue out back at the younger boy.

“Uh, yeah ‘course I’s alive,” Race countered, obviously confused.

“Yeah but you’s was in _Brooklyn_!” Boots, one of the youngest newsies, cried out, still amazed at the mere concept of crossing the bridge.

Race just chuckled and made his way to plop down onto the sofa between Jojo and Albert.

“Guys, it really ain’t a big deal, Brooklyn ain’t so bad. Me n’ Spot was havin’ a helluva’ time makin’ fun a’ Jack,” he teased, taking pride in the eye-roll he received from Jack.

“You’s talked ta’ _Spot Conlon?”_ Boots, one of the younger boys, asked in awe.

Race just threw up his arms and let them flop back down onto his legs.

“What tha’ hell’d you’s all think I was doin’ there? Havin’ a tea party?” He leaned back on the couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. “‘Course I talked ta’ Spot! We’s was s’pposed ta’ be gettin’ other boroughs ta’ join tha’ strike, ain’t we?”

“Wait, so are they with us?” Davey spoke up from across the room.

Race sighed and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees.

“Not this time,” he started, only to be met with groans and annoyed comments. “Oh, c’mon guys! At least gimme a minute ta’ explain first!”

He stood up, leaning his back against the wall and facing all of the boys. He could feel the dread bubbling in the pit of his stomach, but he swallowed his pride and did his best to defend his new…friend? Could he call Spot that? Were they friends? Probably not, Spot didn’t seem like the kind of guy to actually enjoy being around Race, if he was being completely honest. But then again, Spot called him _his favorite_. That would definitely give him an edge up with his friends one day.

“Spot ain’t feelin’ great, so’s he wouldn’t even be able ta’ come anyways, but he said he ain’t sendin’ his boys over ‘ere if he ain’t gonna be there ta’ look out for ‘em. He’s a good guy, really. Cares a whole lot ‘bout his boys, n’ if I’s bein’ honest, that’s tha’ same thin’ I’d do,” he spoke, relieved to see some of the boys nodding in agreement. “But as much as he ain’t comfortable sendin’ his boys over ‘ere alone, he said if we’s gonna keep goin’, he’ll be ‘ere backin’ us up next time.”  
  
Most of the boys seemed pleased with this answer, but he knew everything wasn’t just peachy when Jack stood up, clearly frustrated as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Well if we ain’t got Brooklyn,” Jack started, folding his arms over his chest. “Then we ain’t got anybody.”

Race felt his heart sink. Of course. They were all counting on him to get Brooklyn to join them and he let them down. He let them all down. _Of course_ all the other boroughs wanted to know what Brooklyn was going to do before joining. _Of course_ they would be alone. He felt his hands start shaking as Jack just looked through the group, never at Race, but he took that in the worst possible way. Race let out a weak sniffle before slipping through the group and quickly scaling the stairs to one of the shared bedrooms. As much as he desperately wanted to go outside somewhere, the rooftop was off-limits to anyone who didn’t actually sleep there after the sun set so a window was as close as he’d be able to get.

He pulled open the window, maybe a little too desperately, and sat on the ledge just as Spot had been doing earlier. He looked at the view of the bridge, wanting desperately to go back to only about an hour ago where he and Spot were laughing together and he almost forgot about all of the anxiety surrounding strike entirely. _It was so nice._

He tugged one of his cigars out of his vest pocket along with a match, lighting both and swinging his legs to dangle out the window. The smoke trailed from his trembling lips as he felt tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop thinking about Spot and about how maybe everyone wouldn’t be so disappointed in him if he had just been able to get even a couple Brooklyn boys to help them. He kept thinking about Spot sitting all alone at the window just like he was and for just a moment he didn’t feel so alone.

For the first time in a long, long time he mourned the loss of his soulmate. He didn’t know what is was that made him so heartbroken, besides, he knew his soulmate wasn’t dead. Tattoos didn’t disappear when your soulmate died, they just faded to mere colorless outlines. He wasn’t sure which was worse; losing his soulmate before he could even meet him, or never having one at all.

His hand slowly raised to the place on his arm where the beautiful view from the window had once been, closing his eyes as he pretended to trace the familiar shape of the bridge like it was still there just as before. It didn’t matter that they never met, he missed his soulmate. He missed knowing there was somewhere out there for him. He missed knowing that he wouldn’t be alone, that no matter what, there was someone out there who loved him even if they didn’t know it yet. He missed being able to look at his tattoos when he needed a distraction and just trace the lines of all the things that made his soulmate happy.

It only made the tears fall harder, causing Race to stop, brushing the drops from his cheeks before taking another drag of his cigar. It wasn’t usual for him to actually smoke his trademark cigars. Usually, he would simply carry them around or sometimes hold them between his teeth as a distraction or something to fiddle with if he ever needed something to calm him down. They were only ever smoked on special occasions, which everyone seemed to know, and only made his friends more concerned as they eventually followed him upstairs with all the other boys for bed.

Jojo, Race’s bunk mate since the boy had first moved in, took a seat beside him, not saying anything until Race did and just watching the smoke spiral out of his lips.

“Jo, you’s don’t gotta sit ‘ere, jus’ go on ta’ bed, I’s almost done,” Race mumbled softly, dropping his head when Jojo didn’t move a muscle.

“Racer-” Jojo started, only to be cut off.

“Stop. Just…I really ‘ppreciate ya’ tryin’ ta’ help, but I jus’ need ta’ be alone a while I think,” Race blurted, still keeping his voice low as he sniffled, taking another drag.

“Race, I ain’t gonna make you’s say anythin’ ya’ don’t wanna, but I’s real worried,” he stated, making Race sick at the thought of someone worrying about him.

“Ya’ don’t gotta do that,” he whispered, putting the cigar out on the windowsill and tucking it back into his pocket. “I’s serious Jo, I really ain’t in tha’ mood for talkin’.”

Jojo just nodded and stood up. He held out his hand, smiling a little as Race took it and swung his legs out of the window. Jojo led the boy to his feet and just pulled him towards his chest, wrapping him in his arms tightly even though Race didn’t do the same. He looked down at Jojo’s arms, just as pristinely bare as his own, and reciprocated.

So maybe Jojo’s situation wasn’t the same, he didn’t really want a soulmate at all, for whatever reason, and would always say he just wasn’t interested in having relationships and was actually relieved that he didn’t seem to have a soulmate, but he was a nice comfort when Race was hurting.

The two eventually found their bunks, Race ultimately thanking his friend for helping, and curling into his saggy mattress.

“At least ya’ had the guts ta’ try, Race,” he heard Jojo mumble after a few minutes of silence in the darkness. He rolled over and saw his friend smiling back. He couldn’t help but do the same, Jojo’s smile was horribly contagious. “That’s more than we’s can say ‘bout everybody else.”

Race chuckled softly and nodded, propping his head up on his hand.

“It really ain’t so bad,” he whispered back, careful not to wake Albert and Elmer on the bunks below theirs. “Brooklyn, I mean. Spot’s a pretty nice guy when ya’ actually talk to ‘im. He seems ta’ like teasin’ Jack as much as tha’ rest’a us.”

Jojo snickered and shook his head slightly.

“I’s shoulda’ known if anybody could break Spot Conlon, it’d be you. Get some sleep, Racer, we’s gotta be ready ta’ narrowly escape death t’morrow,” Jojo teased, flopping back down onto his pillow.

“Yeah, ya’ ain’t kiddin’,” Race agreed, laying back down as well. “‘Night Jo. Thanks for everythin’.”

And with that, the boys fell asleep, Race never noticing the slowly blooming ink on his back.

The next morning was the most hectic the lodging house had ever been. Boys were running left and right with homemade signs and clothes flying everywhere, to which Race just groaned, rolled out of bed, and tugged hid vest on over his undershirt. He pulled a cigar out of his vest pocket, popped it between his teeth, and squeezed through the crowds to get downstairs. Boys were waiting around all throughout the house until the circulation bell rang. Everyone raced to the gates of _The World_ , dodging anyone on the streets until they reached the gates. They filed in just as they did every day, except all of them simply stood facing Weisel and the Delancey brothers.

“Looks like we got bum information about a strike happenin’ today,” one of the brothers spoke. Race was too busy watching Jack to even care to notice which one it was.

Jack argued and taunted back and forth with Morris and Oscar as his his boys stood proudly behind him. All was as expected, similar to that of a near daily dispute all of the boys had seen many times before. Well, it seemed like that until all of a sudden a fist was thrown, sending the entire group into complete chaos.

Everyone went nuts on the Delanceys all at once and time was practically frozen. Still, the whole ordeal escalated in mere seconds the moment the bulls showed up.

A kid maybe a year or two younger than Race’s sixteen named Romeo eagerly ran up to the first man on the scene, pleading for him to stop the fighting. It was that very moment that all of the boys realized just how badly they had underestimated the scale of what they were doing.

—————

Spot tried to get himself to wait. He really didn’t want to have to explain why he get the need to go all the way to Manhattan just to check on some kid he just met, but even though he wouldn’t admit it, he was worried.

He had heard plenty about what happened at the strike.

Apparently Manhattan ended up alone, just a few dozen kids against all the guys working at The World that morning, plus the bulls. He had even heard about one kid getting taken to the refuge. He had a feeling it wasn’t Race, but he could never be sure. Someone had said the kid had a bum leg, which would rule out Race, but that didn’t help much when he had no information on the kid.

By the next morning after the strike he had had enough. Spot waited at the lodging house since the circulation bell rang the morning before and the moment it rang again the next day, he was out the door and on his way to Manhattan.

At some point along the way he stopped caring about how it might’ve looked and just wanted to see Race. He didn’t bother knocking when he showed up on the lodging house doorstep and just came inside.

A few kids were around the common room when he walked in, all freezing the moment they noticed who he was. It was complete silence throughout the entire first floor as Spot moved casually through the common room as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Race,” he stated, looking to all of the boys nearby. They either didn’t understand or were too afraid to think.

“W-what about ‘im?” A nervous-looking redhead boy spoke up.

“Where’s he at?” Spot rephrased, resuming his casual stance as he kept talking to the kid. He could tell Race was a friend of his. The boy was very clearly debating whether or not to reveal where his friend was, probably expecting Spot to be there for a very different reason than he actually was.

“Upstairs,” he started, to which Spot turned for the stairwell the moment the words left his lips. “He’s pro’lly still wit’ tha’ rest of ‘em.”

Spot froze a few steps up, turning back to the boy.

“Rest a’ who?”

“The kids that can’t sell. All a’ tha’ boys that got hurt real bad is all laid up in tha’ same room.”

Spot felt a flood of relief flood through his body as he finally received confirmation that Race was at least home safe and not in the refuge. Still, he simply swallowed the lump in his throat and turned back to the stairs.

“Thanks kid,” he said before heading upstairs as he let legitimate gratitude fill his voice.

Albert downstairs was grinning with shock plastered across his face as he hopped up off the couch and jogged over to the base of the stairs.

“Tha’ name’s Albert,” he spoke confidently as Spot turned around, smirking as he nodded, giving a quick salute that Albert probably would’ve thought was weird if it weren’t for the way Spot did it so casually.

Spot continued upstairs, making his way down the hallway of creaky floorboards and chipping wall paint before stopping at the only open door in the hall.

There were kids laid up in beds throughout the rooms with cuts and bruises, broken bones and black eyes, all of which were staring right at him as he walked in the door.

“Hey,” he started, waving at the younger kids so they wouldn’t be as nervous. “Could one a’ you’s tell me where ta’ find Racetrack Higgins?”

Suddenly a weak voice spoke up from the corner of the room behind him.

“Here.”

He spun around and there was Race, sitting cross-legged on a cot with a soft smile on his face. Spot crossed the room quickly, seating himself on the edge of the cot and gently raising a palm to Race’s cheek.

“Race, what the hell?” He spoke, not mad, but mostly just guilty as if it was his own fault.

But Race just smiled a little and allowed himself to lean into Spot’s touch.

“I said no promises,” Race joked, letting out a weak chuckle as he watched Spot’s expression shift into a smile. His hand dropped from Race’s face and the boy instantly felt a chill brush his cheek without the comforting touch. He could tell his face was probably beet red, but he hoped that maybe the bruises littering his face could cover some of it.

“Well I see you’s still an idiot,” Spot teased, still mentally assessing Race’s injuries.

His left eye was sporting a dark purple ring around it, thankfully still allowing him to open it, but the perfect outline of a set of knuckles across his brow bone was painful just to look at. He had a small cut across his forehead that seemed to be healing pretty quickly, and a pretty badly busted up lip, but other than that he seemed mostly fine. A few bruises here and there on his arms and legs weren’t much to worry about and his bloody knuckles had been bandaged quickly, so Spot just exhaled, grateful that nothing seemed too bad. He moved across the cot to sit shoulder to shoulder with Race, both of their backs against the wall.

“Ya’ sure you’s okay?” He mumbled softly, content with Race’s nod, even though he couldn’t see the guilty expression on the latter’s face.

The two kept a quiet conversation for quite a while, both tossing jokes back and forth as well as asking each other basic questions to get to know each other better. Spot really didn’t want to push his luck on anything, but eventually he just had to ask.

“Hey Racer, you don’t gotta tell me anythin’ ya’ don’t wanna, but if ya’ don’t mind me askin’, do ya’ got any tattoos?” Race felt the smile drop from his face as he looked down at his arms, completely bare. “If it’s not somethin’ ya’ like ta’ talk ‘bout, you ain’t gotta, it’s no big deal.”

“I ain’t got any. Not since I was a kid,” he practically whispered, not looking up from his arms.

“Race, I’s sor-“

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s jus’...eight years ago all of ‘em disappeared. I ain’t had any since.”

Spot just nodded and let his hand clasp over Race’s trembling ones. The latter immediately froze for a moment before relaxing and leaning over slightly and resting his head on top of Spot’s.

Spot took his other hand and traced up and down the lines of the boy’s arm, careful of the fading bruises and scrapes.

“That don’t change anythin’, ya’ know that? There ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ you’s,” Spot murmured, squeezing tightly on the boy’s hand.

“If nothin’s wrong wit’ me,” Race spoke softly. “Then somethin’s wrong wit’ _him_ n’ he ain’t okay. I know I’s pro’lly bein’ stupid, but I’d rather be tha’ one that’s broken, not him.”

That was something Spot realized he should’ve seen coming. Race was broken from the system just like so many people before them had been, but he still had hope. He had hope that there was still someone out there and that somehow he would find him. Something Spot never really cared about, but something that clearly was extremely important to Race.

“You’s feelin’ any better? We’s gonna need you’s when this mess gets goin’ again,” Race asked cautiously, his thumb rolling circles into Spot’s palm.

Spot just sighed and shrugged a little. He couldn’t believe the selflessness in this kid. First he did whatever led to him getting soaked at the strike, then confessed to caring more about his soulmate being okay than himself, and now he was treating Spot with more care than anyone he’d ever known.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’s just glad you’s okay. ‘Sides ya’ seem fine ta’ sell if I’s bein’ honest. I’ll even let ya’ come wit’ me jus’ in case ya’ ain’t feeling’ so well,” Spot offered, a soft smirk on his lips as he offered a hand to the other boy.

Race looks hesitant as he stared down at Spot’s hand before shakily gripping it and attempting to stand. His knees wobbled as he put pressure on them and his torso was bent in a painful-looking position. Spot instantly lunged forward to hold him up around his waist as Race whimpered, leaning up against Spot and clinging to him tightly.

“ _Fuck_ , okay, you’s okay, I’s got ya’, we’s gonna sit back down, okay? Everythin’s fine, I’s got ya’,” Spot whispered, gently maneuvering the pair until Race carefully laid down along the place they had just been. His hands wrapped around his stomach gently as if he needed to hold something just to be able to think clearly. “Race…what tha’ hell jus’ happened?”

Spot’s voice was still soft and comforting, rather than accusatory, but Race winced and shrunk in on himself nonetheless.

He tried to answer, but the second he opened his mouth, he started coughing, clutching his chest with one hand and his stomach with the other. Spot looked at him genuinely horrified as he gripped the boy’s shoulders, trying to soothe him as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

Race’s coughing ceased after a few minutes, leaving him breathless and in pain in more places than one. The two boys held steady eye contact as Spot carefully reached out to Race’s hand that was clutching the part of his shirt covering his stomach. The boy flinched as Spot’s hand toughed his, but relaxed quickly nodding for him to continue.

Spot _extremely carefully_ raised up the hem of Race’s shirt, his breath hitching as he was presented with the boy’s slim torso completely wrapped in bandages. His heart lurched as he quickly retracted his hand and looked up at Race with wide eyes as the latter gave a weak smile.

“Race, oh my god, why didn’t you say something? Oh fuck, I pro’lly just made it worse, I’s so sorry, I should’a known there had ta’ be a reason you’s laid up here,” Spot rambled, his heart racing and his head spinning. “Dammit, I should’a been there wit’ you guys. I should’a joined you’s n’ got all tha’ others ta’ back you’s all up but I didn’t n’ now you’s all hurt n’ _fuck_ it’s all my fault.”

“No no no,” Race shushed, reaching up to place his hands on Spot’s shoulders, trying to stop his train of thought. “No, don’t even think ‘bout that, you’s ain’t responsible for this, n’ you’s ain’t got any reason ta’ feel guilty. Tha’ stupid shit I’s gettin’ into ain’t ya’ fault, Spotty.”

They both had awkward and flustered smiles on their faces as they finally acknowledged the minimal distance between their faces. Spot pulled back quickly, shifting in his position and grabbing one of Race’s hands instead.

“I promise ya’ ain’t gotta soak anybody,” Race teased as he sat up a little bit. “I was on tha’ ground tryin’ ta’ wrestle this guy off’a me n’ before I’s even knew it, this wagon was coming straight t’wards me n’ I…I guess it jus’ rolled right ova’ me.”

Tears filled his eyes upon recalling it and Spot quickly reached up and brushed them away before they could fall.

“I’s so sorry, Racer,” Spot whispered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed so they returned to the ground. “I promise, from now on, we’s wit’ you’s. Get some sleep n’ I’s gonna talk ta’ Jack about tha’ next event.”  
  
Race’s smile was unapologetically contagious as Spot stood, collecting his coat and handing it over to Race to use as a more substantial blanket than the thin cloth he currently had.

“Here,” he mumbled, his cheeks flooding with color. “Use it if ya’ want, but I jus’ wouldn’t want ya’ gettin’ sick cause ‘a me.”

Race nodded and wrapped the coat around his shoulders, melting at the warmth of the fabric and the scent of the boy he wanted to be with at all times. The jacket was close enough.

“Thanks Spotty,” Race grinned as the boy leaned against the doorframe, still not wanting to leave just yet.

“Anytime, pretty boy,” Spot teased as Race blushed, burying his face in his hands. “And jus’ know that if ya’ tell anybody ‘bout this, I’s gonna have’ta kill you.”

Race chuckled and nodded, relaxing back into the position he was in when Spot first arrived.

“Obviously.”

Neither of them could ignore the bubbly feeling in their chests as they finally parted ways. Spot made his way out of the house, asking some of the kids downstairs where he could find Jack, and heading down the street towards the Larkin Theater. It didn’t take long for him to figure out which one was Jack, he stood with a nervous stature as if he had never done something so terrifying in his life as selling newspapers, and would not stop looking at the kid selling with him. He was about the same age as both Spot and Jack, but significantly taller than both.

Spot approached the boys, both of them startled by his mere presence, and waved Jack over to talk.

“Takes some guts showing’ up ‘ere afta’ what happened tha’ otha’ day, Spotty,” Jack grumbled, staring the shorter boy down with unforgiving eyes.

“Believe me, tha’ last thin’ I wanted ta’ happen was all a you’s gettin’ hurt the way ya’ did, but it’s too late now. I regret it, but there ain’t nothin’ I can do now but tell ya’ we’s gonna be wit’ ya’ from here on out,” Spot shot back, relief flooding his system at Jack’s shocked expression.

“Even afta’…everythin’ that happened wit’ us, you’s still gonna help?” He sounded so surprised, but Spot just shrugged and nodded.

“I made tha’ wrong choice once n’ I ain’t gonna do it again. If I could go back a few days n’ help you’s wit’ tha’ strike, I’d do it in a heartbeat, but-“

“No,” Jack interrupted. “No, ya’ did tha’ right thing. Race told us about what happened, how ya’ didn’t want ya’ boys gettin’ hurt if you’s couldn’t be there n’ all that. You’s a good guy, Spot. Really, you did tha’ right thing.”

Spot harshly bit back a smile, but had no control over the soft pink glow blooming across his cheeks. Race made him so soft and he honestly was a bit angry about how easy it was for him to fall apart at the mere mention of the boy’s name.

“Race…told you’s all about me?”

Jack chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, he explained why you’s ain’t gonna be there n’ ev’rybody understood,” Jack explained, having no idea just how badly Spot was falling, but he had to say something.

He sighed, glancing around at the mildly crowded streets before pulling Jack out of view and out of earshot to anyone passing by.

“Spot, what tha’ hell ’s this?”

“Jus’ let me say this n’ then you’s can do whatever ya’ want, I promise,” Spot countered, to which Jack raised his hands in mock surrender and remained silent.

Here’s goes nothing.

“I’s pretty sure Race is my soulmate,” he whispered, watching as Jack’s eyes went wide.

“ _How?_ But he-I thought-but he doesn’t-fuck this ’s ridiculous,” Jack rambled, trying to figure out how the boy everyone thought had lost his soulmate years ago, could possibly have found the one he was meant for.

“I promise I ain’t messing’ wit’ you’s,” he continued, shrugging off the long-sleeved overshirt he had become accustomed to wearing ever since he met Race. “Look.”

He revealed the rolled cigar along his right wrist, the ballet shoes on his left ankle, and finally, the beautiful landscape of the ever-glowing Manhattan skyline.

“Holy shit,” Jack marveled, gazing wide-eyed at all of the pictures that were, in almost every way, a perfect match.

“So…you’s ain’t mad?” Spot honestly really valued Jack’s relationships with his boys, especially since they all seemed to trust him implicitly. He knew Race really did care a lot about Jack, despite how much they teased him, and if Jack was fine with someone like Spot being with Race, then maybe he’d act on his recent revelation. Besides, whilst people were mostly fine with people having soulmates of the same sex, since they had no control over it, he knew there were definitely people that didn’t believe people like that deserved soulmates. That they were just glitches in the system that would never truly get to be happy, but those people were always proved wrong.

“I ain’t a hypocrite, Spot,” Jack smirked, looking over at the boy. He had been selling with, who was awkwardly standing a little ways away from them.

“What so he’s ya’ soulmate too?” Spot could feel himself relaxing as Jack and the other boy both smiled at each other.

“Spot Conlon, meet David Jacobs, also known as tha’ best thin’ that’s ever happened ta’ me,” Jack gushed, leading the boy, Davey, over to them. Spot shook his hand firmly as Jack held his arm around his waist. “N’ yes, I’s fine wit’ you’s goin’ after Race, but you’s definitely got some explainin’ ta’ do. Namely why he ain’t had a single mark on his body since he was eight.”  
  
The smaller boy had to calm down a little before he could look back to Jack and Davey. He hadn’t talked about it in years, but then again, he’d never had anyone to talk about it with before.

“Seven years ago I used’ta live wit’ my family in a real nice house in Brooklyn. I had a mother n’ a father n’ a lil’ sister named Jules n’ I was jus’ like ev’rybody else,” he started, biting his lip and trying not to cry. “One night I was stayin’ at a friend’s house when a group a’ bastards from Jersey went on a rampage though tha’ city. They was lightin’ everythin’ they’s could find on fire n’ I had no clue until tha’ next mornin’.”

The boys were shocked into complete silence as Spot was gripping his arms until his knuckles turned white.

“Spot, I’s so sorry.”

“Those bastards took my whole family from me without a second thought. I lost everythin’ I loved in one night. I guess I ain’t every really loved anythin’ since. Well…except for…” Spot spoke, letting his voice trail off as Jack and Davey looked between each other with knowing looks.

If he said it, then it would be real. If he said it, then something would show up on Race’s skin and everyone would know.

“You already love ‘im, don’t you?” Jack’s tone was soft, but sure as if he already knew the answer.

Spot ran his hands through his hair and all he could do is nod.

“God, I’s only known him for a few days but he jus’ ain’t like anyone else, ya’ know?” The boys nodded in agreement. “It’s stupid, but he’s really somethin’ else.He jus’…makes me all _soft_ and I hate it! I can’t control myself when I’s around ‘im n’ I can’t hold up my image anymore!”

Jack just snorted, rolling his eyes as he places a hand on Spot’s shoulder.

“Spotty, if you’s goin’ soft over someone like _Race_ , then you’s gotta have it real bad,” Jack teased, earning a shove from Spot.

“Shuddup,” he grumbled, not making any move to hide the blush covering his cheeks. “It’s all his fault wit’ his goddamn _eyes_ and his _smile_ oh fuck. Jus’ all a’ that shit that makes me crazy.”

“Goddamit, ya’ gotta _talk to ‘im_ ,”Jack drawled, making Spot groan and roll his eyes.

“It ain’t that easy! He’s spent his whole life thinkin’ I don’t exist ‘cause I’s been feelin’ sorry for myself all these years n’ now he ain’t gonna want me,” Spot ranted, the anguish obvious on his face.

Jack knew what he meant and, when he really thought about it, he wasn’t sure how he’d possibly be able to handle it either. Spot was a tough guy, a _really_ tough guy, and if Race was making him like this within only days of knowing each other, then he knew it was seriously tearing him apart inside.

“Spot, I’s known that boy my whole life n’ he won’t hold any a’ that past ya’. If he gets an explanation, he don’t need anythin’ more than that. Jus’ let it happen, I promise ya’ ain’t gonna regret it,” Jack reassured, leaning into Davey’s arms around him.

Spot nodded, accepting that they should probably move on from his love-life problems before he talked himself out of ever talking to Race again.

“So you’s each other’s soulmates, huh?” Spot crossed his arms over his chest and smirked at them.

“Show ‘im Dave,” Jack urged with a grin as the other boy raised his sleeve to reveal a set of coordinates on his wrist.

“All my life I always thought this had to be wherever my soulmate lived, but I never assumed he’d just be a huge nerd obsessed with a place he’s never been,” Davey teased, earning a scoff out of Jack.

“Tha’ moment I saw it, I knew it was Santa Fe. Call me a nerd as much as ya’ want, but you’d still be out here lookin’ if it weren’t for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, get outta’ your head about it before your ego explodes. Besides, that isn’t even the best one,” Davey spoke, tugging up his opposite sleeve until his forearm was entirely exposed. There along his entire arm was a painting, complete with the most intricate brushstrokes, of a mountainscape filled with trees and clouds. It really was beautiful and, by the look on his face, definitely something Jack had painted. “It changes all the time based on whatever he paints.”  
  
Spot couldn’t help but smile at little at the similarity of his own ever-changing tattoos like the occasionally smoking cigar and the ballet shoes that grew more and more worn over time.

They chatted for longer than they’d all probably like to admit about all the mushy feelings they’d never really talked about before, but by the time Spot left to go back to Brooklyn, he was happy and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t so scared of this whole ‘soulmate thing’.

Back at the Manhattan lodging house, Race and the other injured kids were getting ready for an early night in and he headed to the showers, careful of his bandages, and making sure that he had someone just outside the door in case something went wrong. Albert stood dutifully by as Race attempted to wash his curls whilst still stretching his arms up as little as possible, a feat that proved to be extremely difficult.

“So Spot Conlon came all tha’ way here jus’ ta’ see your ugly mug?” The redhead boy teased, causing Race to flip him off even though he knew the other couldn’t see.

“Shuddup Allie,” Race grumbled.

“Fine fine, but I should at least get an explanation as ta’ why I’s givin’ Spot a tour a’ tha’ house ‘cause he’s out ‘ere lookin’ for ya’.”

“He asked me ta’ come by afta’ tha’ strike n’ let ‘im know I’s okay, but as ya’ can see I ain’t exactly capable a’ walkin’ ta’ Brooklyn, so’s he got impatient I guess. That’s all,” Race said as nonchalantly as possible, despite how giddy he felt.

“Sure it is,” Albert teased, continuing to play with the frayed ends of his boot laces.

Race stopped mussing his hair and just looked down. His legs were bare. His arms were bare. His chest, and hands, and feet, all completely bare. It was sickening to look at just how broken he was. His whole body was practically covered in scrapes and bruises, not to mention his entire middle wrapped in gauze, and not a single pretty little picture in between.

“Al, please don’t do this right now,” he whimpered, hoping the running water wasn’t too loud for Albert to still hear him. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about ‘im ’n it _hurts._ It hurts _so bad_ , Allie n’ I’s tryin’ so hard ta’ tell myself I’s jus’ gonna get hurt n’ that I’s gotta jus’ be fine bein’ alone, but I ain’t! I want someone like you’s got Elmer n’ ev’rybody else in my life seems ta’ have someone, but I don’t! I ain’t got anybody but all a’ you’s, n’ you’s all is great, but one day I’s gonna be tha’ only one left all on my own.”

He broke down into his arms as he tugged the thin towel tightly around himself, trying to cover as much of his bare skin as he could, not being able to stand looking at it anymore.

Albert cautiously creaked open the door and kneeled before his friend, placing a hand in his knee, making sure not to pressure him into saying anything else. The echoing footsteps of boys running through the house rang though the ceiling and walls, reminding them both that they were far from ever being alone.

“Racer, I ain’t ever been in any sort a’ situation like you’s, but I do know one thing,” Albert started. “By all laws a’ this fucked up system, you’s still got somebody out there lookin’ for ya’. Whether it’s Spot or somebody else or whatever, there’s someone still searchin’. Race, I know I’s got Elm n’ that pro’lly ain’t helping’, but I ain’t ever gonna leave you behind, no matter what. You’s always got a family n’ even if it ain’t what ya’ want, it’s still somethin’.”

Race nodded, lifting his head to look at the other boy.

“Thanks, Allie,” he mumbled, sniffling as he smiled weakly.

“Anytime,” Albert smirked, standing up to help Race get back to one of the bedrooms. The boys hobbled along the hallways until Race was back to his bed and pulling back on his underclothes. “Jus’ come talk ta’ me if ya’ ever need anythin’, okay? Or any a’ these other guys, but jus’ promise me ya’ won’t jus’ keep it all in.”

Race nodded and curled up on the small cot.

“Yeah, I promise.”

Albert smiled and left, retreating to the room he shared with some of the other boys. He pulled himself up tot he bunk above his own, sliding down to sit beside his own soulmate, Elmer, and kissing his temple.

“Guys I’s real worried ‘bout Race,” he began as everyone else nodded in agreement.

“But he’s gotta have somebody out there, right? I mean, that’s jus’ how it works, ain’t it?” Romeo spoke up as he entered the room. “Well, I know not ev’rybody’s got one, like Jojo don’t, but he don’t even want one! B’sides, Race used’ta have tattoos.”

“Yeah, but I ain’t ever heard a’ something’ like that happenin’ before. All a’ his tattoos jus’…gone all at once,” Elmer spoke softly as Albert grabbed his hand and traced the designs along the boy’s own arm.

“But they ain’t dead! That’s a good thing, right?”

Albert just shrugged.

“The problem is that he don’t think like that. He gave up hope years ago,” Jojo said solemnly.

“Well, I think he might’s jus’ found somebody ta’ have hope for again,” Albert finished knowingly, glancing out the window at the Brooklyn bridge in the distance.

The next few days were spent with Jack, Davey, and his sister’s soulmate Katherine planning for the next big strike event. With the ‘go ahead’ from Brooklyn, the rest of the city’s newsies were all on board and ready to help. The pressure was on and the tension between all the boys seemed to get worse and worse the closer it was to the rally. Everyone in Manhattan was expected to be ready and in control, but for some more-so than others, the strike was the last thing on their minds.

Jack and Davey, having given Spot their word, didn’t speak a word about their conversation to Race. It was tempting, especially after Albert told them about what had happened while they were gone, but this was something they needed to work out on their own.

The day of the rally was…less than ideal to say the least. Jack spoke out against all of the things they had started and, needless to say, the latter was heartbroken. The rest of Manhattan’s boys were pissed, Race and Spot right along with them, but Jack was gone and Davey wouldn’t stick around long without him, so they were left with boys from around the city all fuming and betrayed.

Race tried to stay by Spot’s side as much as he could. The whole situation with Jack made him sick and he had to distance himself just to stop from crying over all of the things they all had been through for essentially nothing. His cracked ribs still weren’t fully healed yet and hurt like a bitch as his chest shook from his unsteady breaths. It was all too much.

He took a glance to the center of the room and decided that, well, at least he got Spot out of it. The shorter boy really was in his element with all the other kids of the city. Race watched on from the back of the room as Spot stood where Jack and Davey had been just moments ago trying to calm down the practically rioting kids. Despite the scowl on his face and the tension in his eyes, it was obvious how much he loved to lead. Though he might’ve been the only one who could tell, Race noticed immediately that he was biting back a smile from the moment he walked in the door and was met with roaring applause.

“Ya’ ain’t so good wit’ crowds, huh?” Spot spoke quietly enough that it was hidden by the commotion as he appeared beside Race.

The latter chuckled at the surprise and shook his head, playing with his cigar and rolling it through his fingers. Spot considered grabbing his hand and holding it as discretely as he could, but stopped himself before he embarrassed them both. They needed to talk about things first.

“D’ya wanna get out a’ here?”

Another nod.

Race followed closely behind Spot as they snuck out through the doors, stepping out under the marquee. For April in New York it wasn’t surprising to see pouring rain in the middle of the afternoon, but they were shivering nonetheless.

Race rubbed up and down his bare arms and let himself breathe more deeply without all of the stressors inside the theater. He was grinning at the rain filling the streets, despite how cold he was, but Spot took notice quickly. He tugged off the jacket from around his body, the same one Race had returned just a day or two ago after Spot having loaned it to him before, and passed it back over.

“Here,” Spot spoke up, catching the other boy’s attention as he held out the bundle of fabric.

Race flipped his head around and looked back at Spot wide-eyed and smiled at the offering. He took it graciously and quickly tugged the warm fabric around his body. In that moment he was incredibly grateful for how much broader Spot was than him and the warm smell of the other boy felt like a hug instantly.

“Ya’ really are a softie, ain’t ya’?” Race teased, nudging Spot with his shoulder. The other simply rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Ya’ know the drill; tell anybody n’ I’ll kill you’s.”

Race let a bubbly laugh escape his lips and Spot could swear the clouds in the sky parted for a moment and the sun lit up the whole city.

“Seriously though, you’s a lifesaver. It’s been real nice not freezin’ n’ I can’t begin ta’ thank you’s enough,” Race repeated, letting his cheeks grow rosy from the cold.

“Keep it then,” Spot stated simply as if it wasn’t something completely unheard of.

“You’s sure?” The amazement in his voice was almost sad, but no one in their right mind would bring it up when the boys were both so happy.

“I’s got another. B’sides, it looks better on you’s than me,” he shrugged, watching the other curl himself into the warmth. “I’s lucky enough to have a spare, but if you’s ain’t got one I’d rather ya’ don’t freeze if I can help it.”

“Thanks, Spotty,” Race beamed.

“Anytime pretty boy.”

The two looked out at the streets from under the marquee and Race held his hand out into the rain. He squealed at the cold, but simply stuck another hand out, grinning at the sensation.

“Okay, you’s gotta be insane,” Spot teased, moving forward to stand beside his friend.

“What?” Spot had never seen anyone look so goddamn happy over something as simple as the weather in his life. “I love rain.”

Right there was the confirmation he needed. The moment those words left Race’s mouth, Spot glanced at his right wrist and there it was. Slowly blossoming ink was forming the shape of a little gray raincloud with raindrops falling down across his palm. 

When he looked up, Race was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, his coat, vest, and hat all cast under the marquee and out of the rain. He was spinning around, the widest smile on his face as he stood drenched in the rain with his arms outstretched.

“Racer, you’s better not get sick jus’ ‘cause you’s stupid enough ta’ go dancin’ in the rain,” Spot called, half concerned and half never wanting him to stop.

“Oh, I’ll show ya’ dancin’ in the rain,” Race countered. He was standing in the middle of a thankfully-empty side street and then he started to dance. Like actually dancing.

His legs were so flexible and his thin body moved in ways Spot had never thought was possible as he stood there in awe, leaning against a post and gazing fondly over at the boy.

Race was honestly having the time of his life. For whatever reason, he felt comfortable enough around Spot that he knew he wouldn’t judge him.

“If only I brought my shoes,” Race giggled, spinning around until he was facing Spot.

“Yeah like you’s gonna bring ya’ dancin’ shoes to a strike rally,” Spot smirked, crossing his arms over his chest but continuing to watch with a small smile toying at his lips.

“Yeah, they’s pretty worn, I probably shouldn’t, but boots are tha’ next best thing!” Race was somehow able to keep his voice just as steady as before, despite throwing himself into the air over and over again and spinning around faster than any human being should be able to do on their own.

Spot was so tempted to join him, but he’d never see the end of it if he did. He glanced back at the theater at the commotion through the windows that didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon and discarded all of his things he didn’t want to get wet. Race was busy enjoying the rain as Spot stepped out into the storm, shivering at first, but understanding the appeal. He stood behind the other, right as Race looked like he was about to do some sort of jump, and Spot let his hands find Race’s waist. The other boy gasped lightly at the surprise, but didn’t make any effort to get Spot to move. He turned around in the boy’s arms and faced him properly, both boys smiling.

“Hey there,” Spot mumbled softly, his eyes lighting up as their soaking wet bodied stood together.

“Hey,” Race replied, chuckling as he draped an arm over one of Spot’s shoulder.

“I’s got somethin’ ta’ show you’s, n’ it’s gonna be really rough, but I can’t keep this from you anymore,” Spot continued, still not raising his voice more than was necessary for Race to hear him. The latter nodded slightly nervously and they separated, Race following closely behind as Spot led him away.

They headed to the backside of the building and Spot opened a door, leading Race in after him. He was hesitant, but then again, he knew Spot wouldn’t do anything to hurt him so this definitely wouldn’t be anything bad. How he knew that…he could never explain, especially considering how every single other person that knew him would probably be completely certain that they would be getting soaked in Race’s position.

They passed through some corridors in the theater until they found their way to the dressing rooms, stepping inside as Spot turned on the lights. The lights around the mirrors flickered on and Race giggled instantly at their soaking wet reflections.

“Damn if ya’ wanted ta’ show me how terrible I looked, ya’ could’a jus’ showed me,” Race joked, messing with his hair until the curls began to bounce back.

“Terrible definitely ain’t tha’ word I’d use ta’ describe ya’, but if ya’ say so,” Spot mumbled, glancing up as he saw Race’s face break into a smile. “But if you’s okay wit’ it, I’s got somethin’ really important ta’ tell you’s about.”  
  
Race nodded and sat down on the carpeted floor of the dressing room, relaxing as Spot did the same across from him.

“I’m gonna tell ya’ a story n’ you’s gotta promise me ya’ won’t say anythin’ until I’s done,” Spot started, his voice nervous as Race nodded.

“Ya’ ain’t gotta say anythin’ ya’ don’t wanna, Spotty.”  
  
“I know, but I need you ta’ know this,” he continued, taking a deep breath. And he began, not looking up from his hands as Race practically held his breath the entire time, his eyes watering and his heart lurching at the horrible story. Spot could feel his eyes burning, but he bit his lip and tried to calm himself down.

“’N that’s why I’s so fucked up now,” Spot finished, hissing out the last few words before suddenly he felt the soaking wet boy across from him throw his arms around Spot’s shoulders and hold him tightly.

“Spotty, I’s so sorry,” Race spoke, sniffling. “I had no idea, I’s so, so sorry.”

Spot raised one of his hands to rest along the boy’s back, wrapping it around him and gripping the back of his shirt.

“’S okay, Racer, ya’ don’t gotta apologize, it ain’t ya’ fault or nothin,” Spot mumbled, his voice slightly muffled by Race’s clothes. He curled his face into the other boy’s neck and let himself relax. That was why he was doing this. So that moments like that one could be a regular occurrence. So that he could hold this boy whenever anything happened and not be afraid to let himself crumble.

“I know, but ya’ don’t deserve this, Spotty. You deserve a family n’ I don’t care what I’s gotta do, I’s gonna help you find ya’ soulmate n’ you’s gonna be happy again, I promise,” Race rambled, slowly pulling out of their tight embrace.

“That’s tha’ thing, I actually don’t need ya’ help wit’ that,” Spot chuckled nervously, fiddling with the long sleeves of his shirt.

“What do ya’-“

“Jus’ trust me, okay?”

Race nodded and Spot took off the over-shirt, baring his arms for the other boy to see. The way Race’s face morphed from sadness to confusion and then disbelief was something Spot knew he’d never forget seeing. Race’s hand moved shakily forward and his fingers went straight towards the Manhattan skyline around Spot’s upper arm and his breath hitched at the contact.

“ _Oh my god,_ ” Race mumbled, breathily as he stared with wide and watering eyes. “ _How?_ ”

Spot just chuckled a watery laugh and just looked up at Race and grinned.

“After I lost my family…I guess I jus’ didn’t really want ta’ love anythin’ ‘cause I jus’ always told myself if I did, I’d jus’ lose it. That’s why ya’ ain’t got any tattoos I guess,” he spoke guiltily. “Or at least, if my suspicion is correct, ya’ ain’t had any ’til now.”  
  
Race’s eyes went even wider than before as he frantically looked down at his bare arms and legs, searching his body before Spot grabbed his hands, stopping his movements.

“Stop me if this ain’t okay, but I think I know,” Spot whispered, holding to his hands as the two stood. Race looked right back as his reflection in the mirrors, not having any bigger than could fit in a pocket watch back at the lodging house. Saying he wasn’t really used to seeing his own reflection was an understatement. Spot’s hands crept up to the hem of Race’s shirt, lifting it slightly before the boy nodded for him to continue.

Spot lifted the shirt completely off and as he stood behind him…there it was. He took a look at the two of them in the mirror and for a moment he was so distracted by how gorgeous the boy in front of him was before he raised his hand to graze his upper back. Race flinched at the touch, but relaxed against Spot’s hand as the latter gaped at the picture.

There he was right on Race’s shoulder blade, sitting on the windowsill as he was the day they first met. The skyline of Brooklyn surrounded him as he held a cigar between his fingers. The smoke crossed towards his spine and right opposite his own portrait was Race, posed almost exactly as he was, but in Manhattan with his signature smirk on his lips. The smoke between them met at the center of his back, swirling together into a heart and just looking at it was enough to finally crack him. Spot broke down, clutching Race’s shoulders as he buried his face into the crook of his neck.

“Look,” he mumbled, retracting his body as he guided Race to turn around until he could see the portrait in the reflection.

The sob that escaped the other boy’s lips was indescribable as the smile that followed it soon after was enough to part the rainclouds outside. Race clung to Spot like their lives depended on it and they were an emotional mess, just thrilled to be able to hold each other with a real purpose.

“You’re…you’re _my soulmate?”_ Race asked shyly as if he couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t. In all honesty, he had been trying the past few days to get used to the idea of being alone for the rest of his life, but now…now he had Spot.

Spot just nodded as he remained in his position, both of them clutching each other in the dim yellow lighting with the sound of the rain hitting the window beside them.

“I’s all yours,” he whispered, his breath tickling Race’s neck and sending shivers down his spine.

Race whimpered softly as Spot’s lips carefully pressed a kiss against his bare skin. They pulled apart and as they just stared at each other, their hair still damp and their clothes still soaked, they just laughed.

Spot would say that Race’s laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world. That with every little giggle that leaked from his lips, he could feel his heart skip ten beats. Race could say the same; that Spot’s laugh, while rare, was just as precious. That hearing Spot laugh was like a gift because of how little he was lucky enough to genuinely hear it.

“We’s supposed ta’ be tha’ tough ones, what tha’ hell are we doin’?” Spot’s voice was the farthest thing from serious as he took Race’s hand and guided it up so the boy could reach the designs on his own back.

“It’s so beautiful,” Race gushed, his fingers brushing softly over the picture.

“You’s so beautiful,” Spot countered, taking Race’s free hand.

“Well shit, who are ya’ n’ what’ve ya’ done wit’ Spot?” Race teased, an infectious grin on his face.   
  
Spot chuckled, taking Race’s other and in his own.

“I hear there’s this pretty boy from Manhattan makin’ ‘im go all soft.”

“Ahh I see, so this ‘Hattan kid you’s talkin’ about…he’s Spot’s soulmate?”

“Damn right he is,” Spot mumbled softly, his lips dangerously close to Race’s.

“Maybe he should kiss this kid then,” Race added suggestively.

“Maybe he will then.”

With those last words, Spot surged forward, catching Race’s lips with his own. The soft noise that escaped the other’s lips upon contact was the sweetest surprise and within seconds they were clutching each other desperately.

Spot’s arms slid their way around Race’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together as Race gripped at Spot’s hair, deepening the kiss. It was truly as perfect as imperfect could be.

Their lips moved like clockwork, like a machine that could never turn without the other. The moment they finally broke apart, they were equally breathless, leaning their foreheads together.

“That was amazin’…you! _You_ are amazin’, Spotty,” Race gushed.

Spot chuckled, bending over to pick up Race’s discarded clothes off the floor as he handed them over, draping the coat around the boy’s shoulders/

“Wait, b’fore we go, I jus’…wanna talk to ya’. You’s kept all a’ this stuff in your past in for too long, n’ I wanna help. It’s good ta’ talk about things, ya’ know,” Race asked shyly, leading them both to sit back down on the floor, this time side by side as Race leaned back, resting his head in Spot’s lap.

Spot began mindlessly playing with Race’s hair as they talked, mostly about the nice things, but they both definitely had some rough patches they couldn’t just ignore.

“Tell me about tha’ things you love, Spotty,” Race asked, looking up at Spot with those irresistible blue eyes as the other rolled his own.

“You’s sure? I’s fine wit’ doin’ it, but you’s gonna be covered in anythin’ I say,” Spot teased, cupping Race’s face with his hands as the boy laughed.

“‘M sure.”

“I love my sister. Always will. She was only six when it happened, but I still remember her. I was eight, but she ain’t ever gettin’ out ‘a here,” he started, tapping his temple with a humorless chuckle. “My whole family, actually. I jus’ miss ‘em.”  
  
Race nodded, taking one of Spot’s hands and kissing the top of his knuckles sweetly. He decided not to look anywhere but up at Spot until he was done, instead curling into his hands and savoring the feeling of his hands in his hair.

“I love dance, actually. I can’t do it ta’ save my life, but my ma’ took me n’ my sister to the ballet once when we was little n’ I feel in love wit’ it. Seein’ you out there today was one of tha’ most beautiful things I’s ever seen.”

Race’s cheeks glowed and he blushed, burying his face in his hands.

“No, I’s serious! You’s got a real gift, Racer. I bet ya’ could really make somethin’ outta dancin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” Race mumbled, embarrassed.

“I guess I really love cats,” Spot continued, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“Aww oh my god you’s _so_ soft I can’t believe it!” Race’s teasing caused Spot to threaten to kick him off of his lap, but the other admitted defeat and curled back into his position.

“My family had one when I was little. After tha’ fire I guess it jus’ ran away, but every time I see one, they’s jus’ so cute, ya’ know?”

Race giggled and nodded, shrugging.

“I mean, I’s more of a dog person myself, but I have ta’ agree, they’s pretty cute too, considering they’s all practically demons.”

“Hey, you’s don’t see me bashin’ on dogs, so unless you’s allergic of somethin’, ya’ ain’t got any reason I’d understand why ya’ shouldn’t love ‘em,” Spot argued back, smiling a little bit wider.

“Fine, fine,” Race sighed in defeat.

It took at least over an hour. They talked about literally every little thing that Spot hadn’t voiced to anyone in eight years. Still, all the while, Spot watched the designs bloom across Race’s skin, his eyes watering slightly as nearly every inch seemed to spread more and more with so many things he’d hardly ever spoken about.

The sun was setting and the rain was slowly lightening up, but they remained, illuminated by only the old yellow lightbulbs glowing across their bodies.

“ _Baby,_ ” Spot, whispered, running his hands through the other’s hair as Race’s breath hitched.

“Shit, Spotty,” Race whimpered, burying his face in his hands. “Ya’ can’t jus’ spring that on me.”

The shorter just chuckled and continued, gazing fondly at the other.

“Look, baby,” Spot repeated, running his hand along Race’s arm as the boy sat up, curling his back against Spot’s chest.

“Oh my god, Spot…,” he trailed off, tears freely falling from his cheeks as he examined all of the designs. A silhouette of a dancer covered the crook of his left forearm, the figure in a passé with his arms stretched high above his head.

“It looks like you,” Spot mumbled, curling around Race as he rested his chin on the boy’s shoulder.

A small blue coffee cup was just below it, the light brown liquid with a spoonful of sugar pouring into it. Opposite that on his left arm was a small orange cat, a portrait of Spot’s family, all smiling and laughing, and most importantly in the exact place it used to be, the beautiful Brooklyn skyline, wrapping around his right bicep.

“Now we match,” Race spoke, grinning as he held his arm out beside Spot’s, lining up the pictures together.

“It seems we do.”  
  
Hearts were light, heads were fuzzy, and two boys were filled with more love than they’d ever known on the floor in the middle of a dressing room at a theater right before sunset as the rain poured on around them. A true mess.

“I should get ya’ back before Kelly has my head,” Spot chuckled, standing as he offered out his hand to the other, helping him off the ground.

Race didn’t say anything and instead just nodded, pulling on his shirt and coat before reaching for Spot’s hand again.

“Okay,” he mumbled softly, following as Spot led the two back out the way they came.

Unfortunately, the rain had only let up a little and the two spent the trek back to the Manhattan lodging house running from awning to awning to the best of their abilities to get out of the rain. Their laughter echoes through the almost entirely empty streets as they stole quick, cheesy kisses in the rain and gripped each other’s hands like they were the only thing keeping them together. As they reached the steps of the lodging house, Spot knocked quickly on the door and thankfully they weren’t left waiting in the rain for more than a few seconds.

The boys were ushered in, greeted by just about everyone from Manhattan, including Jack, who Race tried his hardest not to glare at. Spot honestly didn’t try at all.

“Kelly, you’s got some explainin’ ta’ do or you’s got about ten seconds before I soak ya’,” Spot threatened, turning to the boy and practically charging to his side.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Davey stepped in quickly, surprising both of the boys that had just walked in. “He explained himself.”

“Well then,” Spot continued, unamused. “Let’s hear it.”

Jack groaned, bending over and running his hands through his hair.

“Pulitzer tried ta’ make a deal wit’ me. I told him no, obviously, but then he started sayin’ how he was gonna go afta’ all a you’s n’ I couldn’t let ‘im do it,” Jack started, silencing the room in seconds. “I jus’ told ‘im I’d take tha’ deal, jus’ so he’d leave all a’ you’s alone, but I always planned on double crossin’ ‘im, I swear.”

Spot nodded, uncrossing his arms and jutting one out to the boy.

“Well, in that case,” he smirked, spitting in his palm as Jack did the same. They shook hands, Jack looking down at Spot’s wrist as he did so.

“That new?” He pointed to the raincloud tattoo and Spot blushed a little, at the fact that he noticed.

“Yeah, it jus’ showed up earlier,” he mumbled, taking a quick glance at Race across the room with a smile.

“Right,” Jack smirked as he drawled out the word knowingly.

As the rest of the rally was explained, most of the boys ended up leaving the common room, leaving behind some very suggestive looks from the ones remaining.

“So…,” Albert spoke up from across the room. “Where’d you two run off ta’?”

Race blushed deeply, wanting to just take Spot’s hand and curl into him, avoiding all questions.

“I had ta’ stop this _idiot_ from dancin’ in the rain b’fore he got sick n’ died on my watch,” Spot teased fondly, keeping their story as simple as he could.

“For almost three hours?” Davey this time.

Oh well, he tried.

“Fine, let’s jus’ show ‘em, Spotty,” Race suggested, turning to Spot.

“Your call,” he shrugged, a small smile breaking through his façade as he spoke.

Race beamed and hastily pulled off his coat, showing off his newly-inked arms. It was utter silence. Spot took his place with an arm around Race’s waist just in case something were to happen.

“That son ova’ bitch was right,” Jack remarked, rushing to the two boys and eagerly examining Race’s arms.

Spot shoved him playfully but kept one hand firmly on Race at all times. He leaned over quickly, kissing the corner of the boy’s jaw as Race giggled.

“So you’s his soulmate?” Jojo’s shy voice rang out from the back of the group. “Like for real? You’s happy now?”

Race felt a twinge in his heart as he squeezed his way through the crowd and wrapped his arms around the other.

“Yeah, I’s real happy, Jo,” he mumbled, sinking into his chest.

“Good,” Jojo replied with a smile. “It was nice matching’ wit’ you’s while it lasted.”  
  
Race chuckled, pulling back slightly.

“I won’t ever forget it,” he grinned widely, rivaling the other boy’s thousand-watt smile.

“Hey uh, yeah so we’s soulmates,” Spot stated awkwardly, blushing at the other. He crossed the room to stand beside Race as they lined up their matching marks and their friends went nuts. Dozens of questions were asked, but they never once took their eyes off each other. Their hands never separated and they stood as one without moving.

“Can you please stay? Jus’ for one night, I promise,” Race whispered, leaning close enough for the boy to hear over the commotion.

“‘Course,” Spot stated simply, quickly tying up the conversation as the boys ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed at the sight of them heading upstairs. The matching middle fingers the showed at the oogling boys was probably the most romantic thing they’d ever seen.

“This your bunk?” Spot asked as they approached the back corner of the room Race usually stayed in. It was thankfully much warmer and less stuffy than the room full of sick and injured kids they had last been in together, and Race lifted himself up into his bunk with just his arms, only slightly to impress Spot.

Besides, he had to do something with all of those muscles he gained from all his endless stretching.

They met again on the sagging mattress and leaned back against the wall, stretching out their legs along the length of the bed. Race, being a few inches taller than Spot, made him the perfect height for the latter as he leaned his head on the other boy’s shoulder. Their hands remained intertwined as they sat through casual conversation, eventually moving to lay side by side in the small space.

“Are you happy?” Race’s voice was barely a whisper as he watched the small smile form on the boy’s face.

“I am now, pretty boy.”

“Good, b’cause you’s the best thing that’s ever happened ta’ me, n’ I hope you’s at least close ta’ as happy as I am,” Race countered, leaning in and kissing the other softly.

“So b’fore we start this, n’ I know we’s gonna, can we jus’…figure this out first?” Spot asked shyly, chuckling at the obvious call-out that they would most definitely be spending quite a bit of time that night making out.

“If you’s okay wit’ it…Spotty, I want everythin’,” Race admitted, his cheeks rosy and his smile nervous.

The other grinned and pressed his lips to his forehead quickly.

“In that case, will you be my boyfriend?”

Race just wrapped his hand around the base of Spot’s neck and pulled their lips together. He hummed sweetly as their legs tangled together and their bodies came flush together.

“‘Course,” he spoke into Spot’s ear, sending chills up the other’s spine. He wrapped his arm around Race’s back in response, his hands holding tightly to the place he knew the portrait of the two of them was.

Their breath mixed and the heat of their bodies wrapped around together as their lips moved in sync, creating a perfect harmony. They could’ve stayed like that for ages, but once the sun had long-since set, the rest of the older boys began to fill in the empty bunks and before long people began to take notice of the two boys, now fast asleep in each other’s arms.

It was a sweet ending of sorts to years and years of confusion, but they weren’t completely out of the woods yet. The strike was coming to a close, but the real efforts had only just begun, not to mention that if they didn’t pull it off, almost all of the city’s newsies would be practically penniless and left with no hope of ever being able to live a stable life. Still, they had the task of what to do when Spot inevitably goes back to Brooklyn and Race stays in Manhattan because, as easy as it is for them to visit each other, they both have jobs to do and things wouldn’t be as easy as they were at the start.

Years would go by and they would make it through slowly but surely, always knowing they had a place to call home just on the other side of the river.

Sweet surprises like new designs and growing numbers of portraits of the two of them were nice reminders that someone out their loved them just as much as they loved the other. It was a good life, as good as it could be living pennies away from being on the streets, but they were happy because the people they loved were happy and as long as they could see each other when it really mattered, little reminders that inked their skin was enough to get by.

**Author's Note:**

> hey everybody! so i really love writing stuff for these boys and i have a really cute idea for a multi-chapter internet friends au, but i have so much going on and this is the second fic over 14k words i've posted this month so i feel like i need to take a break and focus on school more. 
> 
> i will still be working on my few fic, but i think i'm going to write a few chapters first before i start posting anything. i also considered doing a write-every-day thing for the month of february, so i might also do that just so i can stay in the groove lmao but it's also not a huge commitment idk....if anyone has an opinion on what i should do, please comment and let me know or check out my tumblr @tony-higgins and message me there!
> 
> as always, thanks so much to everyone for reading, commenting, kudos-ing??? and all that because this means so much to me and i love seeing/reading your feedback!!
> 
> <3, elle


End file.
